“Father never leaves the doors unlocked,” Miss Carvalho protested, sounding panicked.

Duilio felt sorry for the girl. She wasn’t the brightest of the Carvalho daughters to begin with. Newly out in society and exuberant over her birthday ball, she must have made an easy target. The girl wrung her hands together, then raised one as if beseeching Silva to return to her side. “I said I would show it to you, but you can’t look inside. Father would be livid.”

“Your father’s a friend of mine,” Silva told her. “He won’t mind.”

Miss Carvalho chewed at her lower lip. She cast a glance back at the door, her eyes widening as she apparently realized for the first time it was closed. She knew she was in trouble. “Please . . .” she began, her voice fading to a whisper.

It was actually clever of Silva, Duilio thought. Cruel, but clever. For any young, unmarried girl to be caught alone with a man would be scandalous. Silva could have crept into the library on his own, but this way, if he got caught he could hold the girl’s reputation hostage in order to get away unscathed. Surely Carvalho would protect his daughter before his books.

The Lady turned slowly to face them. She pointed at Duilio and indicated the chair farther from where Silva stood flipping through his confiscated book, then gestured for Miss Paredes to approach her. Duilio understood—his mere presence would protect young Miss Carvalho’s reputation. He glanced at Miss Paredes and nodded. She let go of his hand and walked a few steps until she stood right at the Lady’s side.

Duilio walked softly around the back of the couch to the chair the Lady had pointed out. The fabric made a soft whoosh when he sat, not loud enough to alert Silva, though. The man continued to flip through the book’s pages.

Duilio waited. The Lady must be keeping him in reserve.

The library door opened a second time. Duilio turned his head and saw it was the eldest of the daughters, Genoveva—the one Carvalho wanted to palm off on him. Lovely in an elegant cream-colored gown, she seemed more mature than her twenty-one years. Her brown eyes flicked between her sister and Silva, and she regally extended one hand. “Come here, Constancia.”

The younger sister darted over to her, but Silva didn’t look up from the book. “Miss Carvalho, how will you explain where your young sister has been for the past quarter hour?”

The elder Miss Carvalho lifted her chin. “No one need know she was here, Mr. Silva.”

“She disappeared from her birthday ball with a man,” he said. “I, for one, would consider that a sign of overeagerness.”

Genoveva strode over to where he stood, leaving the younger girl cowering by the library door. “You will not slander my sister,” she hissed.

Silva’s eyes rose to meet hers, and then he made a show of giving her a thorough appraisal. “I will do whatever I want, Miss Carvalho. Are you offering yourself in her place?”

“She’s been in the ladies' retiring room,” Miss Genoveva said coolly. “She and I were returning to the ballroom when we looked in the library and saw you pawing through my father’s books.” She held out one hand, clearly expecting him to place the book in it.

Silva didn’t. “Two guests saw her come in here with me, Miss Carvalho. I made sure of that. So what will you give me to keep my mouth shut?”

Her nostrils flared. For the first time Duilio thought that if she hadn’t fallen in love with Alessio long ago, an arranged marriage between them might have worked out after all. Genoveva Carvalho had nerve. Duilio glanced over at the Lady and nodded . . . and the Lady and Miss Paredes both disappeared from his view, as quick as the blink of an eye. He hadn’t expected that.

Duilio heard a quickly stifled squeak from near the door. Evidently Miss Constancia had seen him, even if the other two inhabitants of the room hadn’t yet. In as light a tone as he could manage in his current irritated state, Duilio said, “None of this is necessary, you know.”

Miss Genoveva shrieked and spun about to stare at him wide-eyed. She pressed one gloved hand to her bosom. Silva chose not to acknowledge Duilio at all.

Duilio put on his blandest smile. “I’ve been here the entire time, Miss Genoveva. I sent my mother home from the dancing, you know, and I was going to meet with Pimental to chat later, only I came in here to find the newspaper and I must have fallen asleep. I guess I blend into the chair.” He laughed as if he found himself amusing, then rose. “Whatever is that book you’re reading, old man? It must be fascinating.”

Silva snapped the book shut and set it back on the shelf. “I doubt that, in your drink-addled state, you would understand a word of it, pup. Likely not if you were sober either.”

Ah, those rare chances to speak with Silva face-to-face. Duilio ignored the insult and turned to Miss Genoveva. “Isn’t Miss Constancia missing her own ball? Nice of her to show him the library, but I expect she wants to get back to the dancing and”—he waved one hand in a vague circle—“whatever things, I suppose, that girls do.”

Miss Genoveva gazed at him for a moment, her eyes uncertain. Then she seemed to snap back to attention. “Yes, of course.”

Without a further word, she strode across the room, grabbed her younger sister’s hand, and dragged the girl out of the library.

“You are inconvenient,” Silva said acidly, dropping his pretense of civility. “Where were you hiding, pup? Under the couch?”

Duilio kept his eyes on Silva, praying he couldn’t see either of the two female occupants of the room. Not that he thought Miss Paredes couldn’t deal with Silva. He would simply rather avoid that confrontation. “I was there the whole time,” he said. “Are your eyes going bad?”

Silva crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed together in an angry line. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here, pup, but forget it.”

“You know what I want,” Duilio reminded him. The pelt was all he’d ever wanted from this man.

“And I’ve told you I don’t have it,” Silva said. “I’ve never laid a finger on the thing.”

That was what Silva always said. The one thing that made Duilio think there might be truth in those words was that the man had never asked him for a ransom. “Tell me about Mata,” Duilio suggested. “What’s he after this time?”

Silva laughed aloud. “Mata? You think I’m giving him orders? You don’t understand what’s going on at all, do you? Playing policeman again—I should have known. What a waste! If all that money had come to me instead, as it should have, I wouldn’t be spending my time hunting for missing servants.”

Duilio gazed at Silva wide-eyed, trying very hard to look stupid. The man clearly knew something about Mata. There was no telling what else he knew. “Missing servants?”

Silva tilted his head. “How did you find Miss Paredes first? I planned to have her in my quiver of arrows, so to speak. But, alas, now she’s warming your bed, when I would have been using her as bait.”

He hoped Miss Paredes wouldn’t be offended, but he didn’t intend to argue with Silva about that insult to her. “Bait?”

Silva patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion. Duilio was hard-pressed not to sweep the man’s hand aside. He did his best to ignore it.

“You see, pup,” Silva said, “I don’t know exactly what the Open Hand is doing out there, but when she escaped them, your fishling lover changed the balance of prophecy. The prophecy that Fabricio is destined to die at the hands of the sea folk? Every day that prophecy is growing stronger and stronger.” Silva smiled with false affection, his hand heavy on Duilio’s shoulder. “So, keep in mind that while she’s powdering your sainted mother’s cheeks and handing her fans, your little fishling is planning to kill your lawful ruler. That makes you treasonous just for harboring her in your house.”